


Two Sides

by AnotherWriterWhoWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:23:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deans time in hell turned him into a demon, a hell he eventually escaped from. Now, he just protects his brother from hells plans while Sam is in denial that this is truly his brother. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sides

The monster in Dean’s skin was not his brother, that is what Sam maintained and believed in. 

It didn’t matter that the thing had Deans memories; he was able to count back to every embarrassing thing Sam had ever done from the moment he had turned four, it didn’t matter that he knew all of Sam’s quirks; from the way he needed coffee made just right in the morning or else he would be intolerable for the next two hours to his hatred of having keys on the table.

And mostly certainly not despite the thing knowing just how to sing “Hey Jude” just right while stroking Sam’s head until his body stopped shaking and he was finally able to sleep.

It didn’t matter that they traveled. That they went from state to state and hunted monsters and saved lives and just their damn hardest to prevent the damn apocalypse from happening. 

It didn’t matter those moments when Sam forgot and for a minute it seemed like his brother was there beside him again. (“Jerk.” “Bitch.”) or when its arms were around him and he felt like he could breathe because he was safe and wanted. 

What mattered was that those same arms that embraced him at night were able to pick creatures double his size and weight and throw them across the room without ever moving. 

What mattered was the body that Sam occasionally found himself pressing against smelt of sulfur and smoke and everything of hell that caused his throat to dry and want to drink and drink and drink until there was nothing left.

What mattered is that when they faced demons, and damnit they’ve been facing those sons of bitches too much and too main for too long, it would allow its eyes to reveal the black depths of what it really was.

What mattered is that it needed to leave the room when Sam begun an exorcism in the fear of being sent back himself.

Sam knew the truth and he knew it well. The thing wearing his brother’s skin, his damn brother that raised and loved him enough to sell his soul without a second thought, was not his brother despite anything it said or did. 

(“Dad said I would have to save you or kill you Sammy.”)

Sam knew that being this close to a demon was not good. He was letting his guard down, going into the same bed as the thing for goodness sake and sleeping in its arms all because of his childhood memories. 

(He should have died. He should have stayed dead. Dean would be here, be here where he belonged.)

(Sam should have gone to hell in his brother’s place.)

The thing knew what Sam thought about him and it never seemed angry. If anything it was patient and understanding. Nothing like Dean. Dean was demanding and harsh but loving and caring. 

His brother raised him and died for him. Sam couldn’t even die for him properly. 

Sam’s only contact with Bobby now are through phones. The older hunter could bring himself to look the thing in the eye and invite him in, too many wounds and this is like rubbing the damn salt that hunters have boners over into those wounds. 

Sam understands and respects the man’s wishes. It’s the least he can do. 

His only contact is with the thing and maybe there is some sort of Stockholm syndrome setting in but he is starting to get comfortable with the thing beside him. 

(There are voices in his head talking about a crown made of fire and bone and thorns and it’s going to fit him perfectly. The smells of sulfur and brimstone haunt his nightmares and even when he doesn’t consciously go into the things bed when morning comes he finds themselves together.)

It doesn’t sleep. (“We don’t need to Sammy.”) instead it passes the night watching over Sam and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself, comforting him when he needs to be comforted and always, always, always being right beside him. 

(“As long as I’m around, nothing bad is ever going to happen to you.”)

They travel around the country, Sam trying desperately and calling everyone he could think of (hunter, psychic, witch, the list goes on) and begs them to tell him about curing a demon and giving back its humanity. 

It helps him, for some reason (“My humanity ain’t that big a deal for me but it is for you so I’ll do whatever I can.”) and always in the sight of Sam to make sure that he is actually trying and not faking or ruining Sam’s plans. 

(Whenever Sam dreams it either a good dream or a bad dream. The good dream always have Dean beside him. His loving and caring brother whose soul shines brighter than anything he has ever seen before. The bad dreams however…

Hell cracks through his barriers and in his dreams he is proclaimed king and savior. (“The one to bring us to earth and its destruction!”) and he always wakes up screaming despite the arms around him.)

It is never far from his side (“Deals that are made are strengthened in hell.” is all it says which doesn’t even make any sense to him) and he actually finds comfort from it. 

He doesn’t think of Ruby anymore and their training and his blood drinking. It knows what he has done and they don’t talk about it. The thing held him through withdrawal, soundproofing their room when his screams got too loud, and using its powers on him when he had seizures. It never offered its blood and Sam never asked. 

The thought of drinking its blood made him want to cry more. 

So he studies and learns. He learns to cope with the dreams and ignore the voices (“King. Our Boy King. Lead us.”) and life goes on. He ignores the occasional black eyes that he sees on its face and continues to climb into the bed with it until he can finally sleep. 

If he is lucky, tonight will be a good night and he’ll dream about his brother, bright and shining and pure, again.

Its hand strokes through his hair and it hums Sam to sleep. He looks into his brother’s face, the thing has learned how to make the body its borrowing look sympathetic and loving as Dean always had towards him, and he closes his eyes to go to find merciful sleep.

He could fool himself that it really was Dean here. That much he can do.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dean knows that Sam doesn’t trust him and doesn’t believe that it’s him. That’s fine, he can live with that. 

As long as he knows that Sam is alright and unharmed he can live with anything.

He doesn’t remember his turning, down in hell, he just remembers an endless amount of days of torturing and inventing and sharping his knives. Alastair’s voice in his ear (“Just like this little one, I’m so proud of you my boy.”) and his guiding hand on Deans. 

The one thing he regretted before getting out was not gutting Alastair when he had the chance. The older demon hated coming to earth and Dean might never have another chance to finally show his so called mentor (The one who dared to try and call himself Deans father) just what he learned under his teachings.

He knows the whispers that are said in hell, as Sam’s brother he was more often than not eagerly told of hells plans for Sam.

Sam was the prophesized Boy King. He was going to lead all of demon kind to their own paradise and they would finally conquer the earth as it should be. 

Heaven would be stormed and the angels no more. Earth taken over completely by demons. 

Sam. Sammy. The boy he had raised and loved. The boy he had sold his soul for. They wanted him to lead and they wanted him to be king. 

They weren’t asking. 

They knew that Sam was tainting himself, drinking the blood of a demon in an attempt to strengthen the powers he was born with and whichever Azazel had given him. Demon blood was addictive to humans and soon Sam wouldn’t be able to stop. 

The demons of hell were counting on that addiction to be the reason Sam would come to them. And once he did they would sink their claws into him and never let him go. 

No one touched his brother (“Look out for Sammy.”) and no one dared to hurt him. That was the rule of law and everything right. There were very few constants in the universe. Official document pictures would always look horrible. Cameras add five pounds. Yes that dress makes you look fat. 

Touch Sam and die by Dean’s hands, that was the main universal constant. 

So he escaped. He found cracks in any hell gates that there were and that he could find and escaped. He had to possess a guy in order to bring his body back to him and get rid of the anti-possession tattoo that had seemed like a good idea at the time but eventually he got his body back and he was able to find Sam. 

Sam knew it was him whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. Dean saw him twitching for the gun, even now, but he wasn’t afraid. Sam would never hurt him and if he did Dean was sure he deserved it. 

(There were whispers that the kind of demon a soul turned into all depended on what kind of a deal brought them there. Dean’s deal was to bring his brother back to life so it only made sense that despite him being a son of hell now that Sam was the only thing in all the realms that he loved and would protect at all costs and in reality what kind of a difference did that make from when he was human?)

So he protects his brother (“Sammy comes first, always.”) and he watches over him. He knows that hell wants his brother. Wants to put their tainted crown on his brother’s head and have them guide and lead them. 

He helps Sam look for a way to cure him. He doesn’t remember his humanity and doesn’t need it (“It was them or me and in truth I was getting pretty tired of it being me.”) and he is better able to protect his brother from being a pawn in a game he can’t control if he has these powers but when he mentioned that once Sam looked damn near to having a panic attack that he took the words back and tried to learn more and got into contact with more people than he thought would ever know about the supernatural.

He wipes away Sam’s tears (“I’m here Sammy, I’m never going anywhere kiddo.”) and he rocks him to sleep. He kills any demon that comes near to him and helps him through withdrawal from the demon blood. 

Ruby tries to trick her way back to Sam. Dean kills her without a second thought using her own knife on her. 

There are whispers of things even lower, down into the depths of hell where even the oldest demon is afraid to go to.

(“We have a god, his name is Lucifer.”)

There are whispers of what Sam has to become. There are whispers of what’s to come.

(“The apocalypse is the end for humans and the beginning for demons.”)

Sam whimpers in his sleep and within milliseconds Dean is there, getting under the covers to his brother and puts his arms around him. He looks too damn young in his sleep and the thought makes Dean remember his heart because it clenches him and doesn’t let go.

Hell wants his brother. Dean says fuck you and curls his arms around him all that much tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Supernatural.


End file.
